I Am
by theinspired
Summary: (Spoilers for The Witch's Familiar) Clara has adverse reactions to climbing into a Dalek casing.


Clara remembers. Well, not really.

She knows she's _supposed_ to remember. She knows something like this had happened before.

But when she tries to access the memory, she only sees static. It's a fuzzy, inconsistent image. Nothing steady. Nothing specific.

In the end, it doesn't matter. She's freed from the Dalek's casing.

She's home. She's safe.

It's finished.

 _"I am not a Dalek! I am human!"_

 _"I am Clara Oswald! I'm right here!"_

She wakes screaming. She sits in bed, attempting to control her pulse. The dream gradually dissolves in her mind.

She doesn't remember why she's panicked. But she does remember feeling this way.

She had woken like this before. Quite awhile ago.

"I am human," she whispers.

She isn't sure why she said them, but the words are a comfort.

She repeats them. Again and again, until she lulls herself to sleep.

 _"I am Oswin Oswald. I fought the Daleks. And I am human. Remember me."_

 _"I'm your friend! I would never kill you. You are the last person I would ever kill."_

Most nights are the same. Less sleep, more questions.

She never remembers her dreams clearly. Just fragments.

Metal. Pain. Terror.

The terror. It follows her everywhere.

She has no idea what could be so frightening. And she doesn't want to know.

She's learned by now that nothing is ever finished. Not with the Doctor.

She wakes terrified, but not panicked. The fear is a part of her routine now.

"You could have told me you weren't sleeping well."

She starts at the words, looking up to find the Doctor. He's at the end of her bed, giving her a concerned look.

How long had he been watching her sleep? Why had he arrived in the middle of the night?

"I mean, I care, Clara," he continues, stepping closer. She realizes she hasn't spoken.

"It's not a crisis," she says, moving to sit on the edge of her bed. "It's just stress."

"It's not _just_ anything," he counters, sitting next to her. "You're having night terrors."

"I am not-"

"Clara," he interrupts. "You are."

She shifts away from him. "Why are you here? I mean, why in the middle of the night?"

He gives her a sad smile. "I got your distress call."

"Pardon?"

"Well, more specifically, psychic distress call," he explains. "You were broadcasting on the TARDIS wavelength, so I heard it."

"What are you talking about?" she demands.

He must sense her frustration because he lowers his voice.

"The TARDIS connects with its passengers telepathically, enabling simultaneous translation. That connection allowed me to hear your night terrors."

"You can _see_ my dreams?" She stands, crossing her arms.

"Nothing like that," he assures. "The TARDIS only connects to passengers on this wavelength in an extreme emergency. I could hear your reaction to your dreams. And even then, only bits and pieces. That's all."

"I'm not sure how that's supposed to comfort me," she says, glaring.

"Clara, stop being angry with me for a moment and answer this: how long have you been having bad dreams?"

She bites her lip, looking down. "Awhile. About a month and a half."

"Can you tell me what they're about?"

She feels tears burn behind her eyes. She blinks furiously. "I...no. I don't know."

"It's okay," he says, she feels his arms wrap around her. "That's alright. I thought as much."

The Doctor pulls away. She looks up at him. "Do you know what's happening?"

He nods. "Your mind is connecting your most recent experience on Skaro to similar experiences. It's basically a form of PTSD."

"Post-traumatic stress disorder? When have I _ever_ had an experience close to what happened with Missy?"

"It was in one of your other lives," he says gently. "You don't remember because I erased it."

She remembers how that had felt. Being lost inside her own mind. The memories drowned her. The Doctor brought her up for air.

"Right. Yeah," She swallows, but the dry lump stays in her throat. "But if it's been erased, why do I feel like this?"

"Nothing can ever be completely forgotten. Especially pain. That unfortunately always seems to reappear."

She closes her eyes. She feels the metal around her, eyes burning with tears.

"I'm not dead!" she cries. "I'm in here! Can you hear me?"

She is sobbing, gripping the edge of her bed. The Doctor is right in front of her.

"I'm going to help you remember," he says. "Just that one experience. It should help your brain settle."

She looks up at his hands, the terror sitting heavy on her chest. She nods.

 _"Day 363. The terror continues."_

 _"Oswin Oswald. Junior Entertainment Manager, Starship Alaska. Current status: crashed and shipwrecked somewhere... not nice."_

 _"Do you know how you make someone into a Dalek? Subtract love, add anger."_

 _"It's a dream, Oswin. You dreamed it for yourself because the truth was too terrible."_

 _"I am not a Dalek! I am human!"_

She blinks. She's kneeling on her bedroom floor. The Doctor is next to her, watching her warily.

She takes in a few deep breaths.

"Clara," he whispers.

"I'm fine." She moves to sit on her bed. He follows.

"So," she continues. "I was turned into a Dalek."

"Not you. Oswin. But yes," he answers.

She nods. Neither speak for several minutes.

"Did Missy know? About the echoes?"

"I don't think so," The Doctor shakes his head. "What she did...it was aimed at me, not you. I mean, to her, you're about as important as a," he sighs, running a hand over his face. "I don't know, a puppy."

She can't help it. Clara laughs.

"What?" he asks. "What is it?"

His questioning only makes her laugh harder. She can barely breathe. He ends up chuckling along with her.

"You timelords think the same," she says, when she's managed to catch her breath. "Missy compared me to a puppy too."

"You're much more important than an ordinary puppy, Clara," he assures, completely serious.

She giggles. "Thanks, Doctor."

"Alright, how about you getting some sleep for once?" He smiles and stands. "Well, hopefully. I gave you that memory back to calm your mind. But you might still have some ill effects."

"I'm sure I'll be fine. Shoo," she says, waving a hand.

"Mind if I stay? Just until you fall asleep."

She studies him for a moment, and then sighs. "Alright. But you sit over there."

"Fair enough," he says, sitting in a chair near the corner of the room.

She climbs back under the comforter.

"Goodnight, Doctor," she says, closing her eyes.

"Goodnight, Clara."


End file.
